


getting to know you

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nanny, Babysitting, Dad Oikawa Tooru, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Future Fic, M/M, Oikawa Needs A Babysitter And Suga Needs A Job, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, Writer Sugawara Koushi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 04:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18024584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: Suga feels like he’s back on the court then, his heart thudding hard in his ears… so hard he almost misses what Oikawa says. Unfortunately, though, he doesn’t."My, my. What a surprise," Oikawa Tooru says. And then… "Hello, Mr. Refreshing."





	1. Chapter 1

As soon as Sugawara Koushi walks through the front door of the grocery store he sees the neon green advertisement fluttering on the local notice board plastered to the wall.

 

It sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s so bright — especially compared to the nondescript, black and white ads taped beside it.

 

When he gets close enough to read it, his heart skips a little beat with hope.

 

_Babysitter Needed_

_Single dad needs babysitter for 5 yo son_

_Work hours are M-F 8 am to 6 pm, will sometimes be needed on weekends_

_Pay is_ _¥ 2241_ _an hour_

_Requirements:_

_\- Good with kids_

_\- Okay with sometimes staying later than work hours depending on circumstances_

_\- Also good with large dogs_

_\- Can cook something besides microwavable meals_

 

_Two-thousand two-hundred and forty-one yen_ _an_ hour _?_ Suga blinks at the page, sure he’s read that part wrong. There’s no way -

 

But no, there it is, typed out in bold Times New Roman.  Two-thousand two-hundred and forty-one yen an hour. 

 

Doing some quick math in his head, Suga’s heart does another skip in his chest — this time a little more strongly.

 

_This is it. I need a job. I need the money._

 

He shifts in place, feeling the linoleum floor through his worn sneakers. His stomach growls, reminding him that he’d come in here for food and the automatic doors whine and part behind him as another customer enters, letting in the hot, summer-night air.

 

Still Suga hesitates.

 

He _does_ need the money. There’s no denying that. His student loans are stacking up. His fridge is bare and Suga doesn’t know how much longer he can go without turning on the AC in his apartment. God, it gets hot in there.

 

But… but can he handle it? He’d had a few babysitting jobs, back in high school. But that — that had been what? Six — seven — years ago?

 

_I’m good with kids_ , Suga reasons with himself silently, tapping a finger against his thigh. _And yeah, instant meals are easier, but I can cook. Kind of. I love dogs. And my classes are all online. I can work while the kid sleeps._

 

Five year-olds slept a lot, right? Suga is pretty sure they do.

 

The situation is kind of perfect, actually. The more Suga thinks about it, the more he feels more sure about it.

 

So he reaches out and grabs one of the little, contact strips at the bottom, eyes dropping to read it…

 

His stomach drops. Suga chokes on his own spit. He blinks. Then blinks again.

 

_No. No way. No way? What the -_

 

But it’s the same font. Smaller print, yeah. But there’s no mistaking the name typed out across that slip of paper between his fingers.

 

Suga raises it to his face and squints… and it stays the same. He holds it out again, at arms-length, still bug-eyed and gaping.

 

And no matter how he looks at it, that name still blares up — loud and shocking. Along with a phone number.

 

_Oikawa Tooru — 022-332-5232_

 

_—————————————————————————————————-_

 

_“Wait, wait, wait. You mean Oikawa_ Tooru _? As in_ the _Oikawa Tooru?”_

 

Suga balances his phone between his chin and shoulder. He tears open the thin plastic covering on his cup of instant noodles and hums into the receiver.

 

“Yeppp,” he answers, popping the word. “I looked up the address on the ad. It’s him alright. He’s some kind of researcher at that expensive, private university here. You know the -“

 

_“Damn, you mean Ashikaga?"_ Daichi interrupts. Suga sighs. 

 

"Yeah, that one."

 

There’s a long, slow whistle over the receiver and then Daichi’s voice returns, confused this time.

 

_"Wait. But wouldn’t he need his PhD or something to teach there? I mean, he’s our age, right? He’s only twenty-five, twenty-six at the most. How’d he -"_

 

"I said researcher, Daichi," Suga reminds gently, smiling. "Not professor." He doesn’t mention that Oikawa also has a _kid_ — let alone a job at a fancy school — at twenty-five. Not that it’s unusual or anything. Just unexpected.

 

Suga blows on his noodles, the steam wafting over his cold face. After this he’s most definitely taking a cold shower. Even in shorts and the thinnest t-shirt he owns, he’s too hot. The heat sticks to him like glue and he hates it.

 

Maybe he’ll grab a cup of the whiskey he has in his cupboard too. Not for cooling purposes, of course, but still nice all the same.

 

_"Mmm,"_ Daichi hums and then there’s a break of silence. Suga puts the call on speaker and sets it on the cheap kotatsu he has positioned in front of his couch. The first bite of food burns his tongue and he curses softly.

 

_"So,"_ Daichi speaks up again, _"are you gonna call him?"_

 

Suga pauses with another bite halfway to his mouth. He puts the cup down. 

 

"I don’t know," he answers honestly. He sinks farther back into the couch cushions and lays his head back, staring at the ceiling. Sweat prickles over the back of his neck.

 

Oikawa Tooru. _The_ Oikawa Tooru, as Daichi had so eloquently put it.

 

Suga remembers him a little bit from high school. He remembers seeing his face plastered in the sports magazines. 

 

Most of all though, he remembers their match, the one Karasuno had won… and the look on Oikawa’s face afterwards.

 

_"I think it’s a good opportunity… even if he turns out to be as much of a pretentious asshole as he seemed to be back then,"_ Daichi speaks up again. His voice is soothing, familiar over the phone. It calms the odd ache Suga’s memories put in his chest and he blinks, shattering the image in his head.

 

_"And babysitting always comes with good food. Who knows? Oikawa-_ san _may have a killer fridge."_

 

Suga can’t help but laugh. Especially at Daichi’s sarcasm on the honorific. He grabs his noodles again, gazing down into their watery, oily depths. Yeah, good food sounds very appealing right now.

 

"You’re as smart as ever, Sawamura," he answers, taking another bite. Thankfully it’s cooler this time. "And you’ve convinced me. I’ll call tomorrow."

 

_"I’m ever at your service, Sugawara,"_ his best friend answers, a laugh in his voice. _"I’m gonna go now, though. Good luck with it. Let me know if he actually does have a killer fridge, alright? And if he’s still a little shit too."_

 

"Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Dai."

 

_"Night, Kou."_

 

As soon as Daichi hangs up, Suga sighs, finishing the last few bites of his dinner.

 

Truth be told, he’s still not one-hundred percent on board. He had searched the address on the ad as soon as he’d gotten home — sitting cross-legged on his bed with his old laptop cracked open in his lap and his meager groceries left haphazardly on the kitchen floor.

 

And after a few more clicks, a few more pages zipping by, there he had been. Oikawa Tooru — wearing a collared shirt and a tie, smiling that smile Suga remembered from the magazines. His job title and office and work phone had all been listed beneath the image on Ashikaga’s Engineering page.

 

_Engineering_ , Suga thinks not for the first time today. _Who would’ve thought?_

 

He’d honestly been expecting Oikawa to be a global-level athlete by now. Someone Suga might have seen playing volleyball on tv or in one of the local newspapers. He’d already been somewhat of a celebrity back home, in Miyagi.

 

Now, somehow, the two of them are in the same small town — a good five hours away from there.

 

Suga is here for school after quitting his first job. Oikawa is doing research in engineering. 

 

A _babysitting_ ad of all things has tied them together.

 

But that’s besides the point.

 

_Focus, Kou_ , Suga reminds himself, getting up and stretching. He’s exhausted. And too damn hot.

 

Sighing again, he throws the plastic cup in the trash and grabs a chipped coffee mug from the sink. The whiskey pours in like liquid honey, swirling like amber in the bottom under Suga’s dim kitchen lights.

 

He takes a sip. Lets it burn down his throat to settle in his stomach and after a few more, Suga blearily makes his way back to his bedroom. 

 

After he’s lying down in the middle of his bed — sheets kicked to the floor, his mug resting on top of his stomach — he lets himself think. 

 

No, it’s not really that Suga is so surprised by the coincidence. Well, he kind of is. But it’s not _that_ far-fetched that he’s running into someone from high school seven years later. Stuff like that happens all the time.

 

Suga rubs his eyes with his free hand, runs his fingers through his hair. _God, it’s still so hot. And after I actually turned on the crap AC tonight._ It rumbles and coughs in the living room — a gigantic, wheezing, dying beast of a machine.

 

It’s not the coincidence though.

 

It’s what Oikawa reminds him of. It had all come rushing back with Oikawa’s face smiling up at him from the laptop screen.

 

High school.

 

Regrets.

 

Jealousy.

 

Loss.

 

All of it correlates a little too closely to the present for Suga to be comfortable with.

 

Suga sighs and sits up, scooting back until his spine is pressed to the wall behind his thin mattress. He takes another swig of whiskey and squeezes his eyes shut. A bead of sweat trickles down his neck.

 

_I need the money. There’re no ands, ifs, or buts._

 

Yeah. Yeah, he’s right. Daichi’s right too.

 

It doesn’t matter what Oikawa reminds him of. The past is the past. This is now, whether he likes it or not.

 

And right now, Suga thinks, he’d really like to be anywhere else than here.

 

_—————————————————————————————————-_

 

_"So you can come by in the next half an hour, right? Great, see you then."_

 

The phone clicks. The line goes dead. Silence beats onward.

 

Suga lowers the device from his ear slowly and then stares at it.

 

His mouth is still open, half-formed around a "Wait"… but Oikawa has hung up.

 

He fucking hung up.

 

Suga keeps staring at the phone in his hand in disbelief, his own face reflected back at him. He shuts his mouth.

 

One more second of stunned silence passes and then -

 

"Oh yeah," Suga mutters, tossing his phone over onto the end of his bed a little viciously. "This is already off to a _great_ start."

 

What the hell? What the actual fuck?

 

Oikawa hadn’t even asked for his _name_. He has no idea who’s supposed to be coming by his house in "half an hour".

 

_That little, pretentious pri-_

 

Growling under his breath, Suga gets up. This already feels like a mistake. He hates to say it but he’s dreading going now.

 

Oikawa had been _exactly_ what Suga had been expecting over the phone. Short, clipped… arrogant even.

 

Stopping in the middle of his room, Suga runs both hands through his hair.

 

Maybe he should call Daichi. Daichi will know what to do. 

 

Suga will just tell him how he called the number on the babysitting slip — ready to have an actual _conversation_ with Oikawa — and wasn’t even able to speak one word past saying he was interested in the job before being practically summoned to the house.

 

And then -

 

Then what? Then Daichi will tell him the same thing his brain is.

 

Suga frowns.

 

_Stop pouting, you’re not going to call Daichi. You’re going to get ready and you’re going to go. You_ need _this. It doesn’t matter if he’s a jerk._

 

Besides, Suga reminds himself, it’s been seven years. People change. Don’t they?

 

Maybe Oikawa had just been busy. 

 

Or maybe Oikawa’s _exactly_ what Suga remembers from high school — arrogant, proud, mouthy and loud and so self-sure. Only now he has a kid and a fancy job on top of it all.

 

Gritting his teeth, Suga heads for the bathroom, pulling his sleep shirt off over his head as he goes.

 

Whatever he is, Suga has a meeting to get to.

 

—————————————————————————————————-

 

"Oh wow."

 

Suga’s face is pressed nearly to the glass of the cab he’s in as they round the corner and an unsteady-looking house comes into view.

 

"Interesting place, huh?" the driver asks, but Suga figures that it’s rhetorical so he stays quiet, still staring.

 

Interesting is one word for it.

 

It’s… _tall_. Tall and narrow, like a child had taken blocks and stacked them as high as they could go without toppling. Automatically Suga counts three — four? — floors, possibly a fifth. But he can’t make out that part of the house through the trees.

 

There are definitely a lot of windows — more than the house needs, really. And as the cab pulls closer, Suga makes out a widow’s porch at the very top. Not a fifth floor then, not really. More of a lookout. It must be pretty at night, with all of the stars.

 

"It’s charming," Suga says out loud and the driver grunts noncommittally.

 

It does have a certain charm about it. The Western-styled house is sat in the middle of a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by tall trees. It’s also painted a faded shade of yellow, oddly cheery.

 

Somehow, Suga thinks, yellow doesn’t really seem like it would be Oikawa’s color.

 

He also notices that there are no signs of toys or anything else a five year-old would have around the yard. No stuffed animals scattered across the grass. No bicycle sitting on the gravel drive.

 

The cab stops. Suga pays and gets out, clutching a folder in his hand.

 

The heat automatically pushes down on him from all sides, stifling in his jeans and the nicest sweater he could find. He’s already sweating again.

 

_No suit and tie for this interview_ , he thinks, walking up to the front door after taking a deep breath. _I don’t have one anyway._

 

At the door — a large, brass-knobbed thing — Suga hesitates once more. The cab still sits behind him on the drive, engine grumbling. The sun is high in the sky. The scream of cicadas is nearly deafening.

 

_You could go back home. Look for something else._

 

Suga thinks for a moment. He could. He could turn right back around and drive back and find something else.

 

He’s hot. He’s nervous. He’s irritated, under it all.

 

And he had had to take a cab out here because even though it isn’t too far away, Suga has no car. And Oikawa’s house is set farther out from town, farther up in the mountains. Walking would be a pain.

 

What if this job turns out to be hell? 

 

Suga is already stretched so thin. He’s already dealing with all-nighters spent hunched over his laptop, with cheap food, with fighting himself to not call someone for help.

 

He won’t. He refuses. He got himself into this situation and he’s going to get himself out.

 

He’s already dealing with his parents.

 

He’s already dealing with Mayu.

 

Does he really need Oikawa Tooru of all people on top of that?

 

Suga grits his teeth. And he rings the doorbell.

 

_I’m doing this. I can handle Oikawa. I’ve handled a lot of other things. Oikawa will be a piece of ca-_

 

The doorknob turns and then the door is swinging open and Suga’s heart jumps up into his throat before he can finish his pep talk. 

 

The cab crunches over gravel behind him, pulling away. His last chance at salvation is leaving but it’s already too late because the door is opening all of the way and -

 

There’s no one there.

 

Suga snaps his mouth closed. His pulse is way too fast at his wrists, embarrassingly so.

 

_Just calm down_ , he starts to tell himself. _Maybe the wind -_

 

"Daddyyy!!"

 

Suga jumps, startled, as a voice resonates loudly from somewhere in front of -

 

"Oh, hi," he chokes out, finally looking _down_ and seeing the child there at the door. He’d been so nervous he’d just been staring straight forward — into a long, narrow hall that is most definitely kid-lived-in. There’s a whole slew of toys scattered about — and some very bright paint splattered along one wall — but right now all Suga can focus on is the fact that Oikawa actually has a _kid_.

 

A kid standing in front of him right now, dressed in a tiny pair of overalls and little sneakers.

 

A kid that is the spitting-image, carbon-copy, _clone_ of Oikawa. Same brown hair, same chocolate-brown eyes. The same dainty upturned nose and long eyelashes. Just as pretty, like a doll.

 

"Hello," the boy says, breaking through Suga’s thoughts. And then he grins up at Suga, all of his teeth showing, eyes crinkling. Suga’s heart melts a little.

 

"What’s your -," Suga starts, bending down to crouch on his knees, smiling warmly. Maybe this won’t be as bad as he’s been fearing…

 

"Jiro, where are you? What did I tell you about answering the door to strangers -"

 

The voice echoes out into the hall, drifting to Suga’s ears as he kneels. The child’s — _Jiro_ , apparently — grin only widens and he keeps blinking at Suga, mischief written all over his face.

 

_Like father, like son_ , Suga just has time to think way in the back of his mind before a shadow shifts behind Jiro, getting larger as footsteps approach.

 

Suga’s heart stops beating.

 

He looks up at the exact same moment that a man rounds the corner from a room off to the side — more specifically, at the exact same moment that _Oikawa Tooru_ rounds the corner.

 

It’s undeniably him. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, glasses perched on his nose. He’s taller, older. Seven years older, to be exact.

 

But it’s still Oikawa. And the sight of him is like a bucket of ice-cold water down Suga’s back, shocking in the heat.

 

Suga stands up, cheeks suddenly hot and mind blank. The past washes over him, like a wave up on a beach. Oikawa stops walking too, struck still in the middle of the hall at the sight of Suga in front of him.

 

Then his face is shifting from a frown — because of Jiro presumably — to naked surprise — both eyebrows raised — until it finally settles on something that Suga does _not_ like. Not at all.

 

It’s a leer, not a grin. It’s cold and mocking and smug. And it’s paired with a dangerous glint in Oikawa’s eyes and a tilt to his chin that has Suga’s pulse skipping another beat.

 

Suga opens his mouth to speak — to introduce himself, to break through this awkward silence broken only by the sleepy buzz of the bugs in the forest behind him… but Oikawa beats him to it. _Again_.

 

Suga feels like he’s back on the court then, his heart thudding hard in his ears… so hard he almost misses what Oikawa says. Unfortunately, though, he doesn’t.

 

"My, my. What a surprise," Oikawa Tooru says. And then… "Hello, Mr. Refreshing." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to continue this fic for you guys bc babysitter/nanny AUs are so much fun to write... also Dad!Oikawa is going to be so interesting to unfold so stay tuned ˚‧*♡ॢ˃̶̤̀◡˂̶̤́♡ॢ*‧˚
> 
>  
> 
> [The blog](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

Suga’s first thought goes something like, _"Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God…"_

 

His second is slightly more composed. It’s, _"Mr. Refreshing?? What the hell does that mean?"_

 

But before Suga can actually formulate words, something tugs at one of his legs. He looks down to see tiny fingers curled into his jeans, pulling. Jiro beams up at him and it’s wide and gummy and precious.

 

So different too, from the cold gleam in his father’s eyes.

 

Something about the innocence of Jiro’s face and the childlike warmness to his smile settles Suga’s nerves. He smiles back down at the child and then gets his vocal cords to work.

 

"Hi," he responds, looking back up to catch Oikawa staring at his son’s hand, still pulling at Suga’s clothes. For a moment, the former setter of Aoba Johsai looks like he’s debating about whether to come scoop Jiro up or keep watching… like it’s some kind of test Suga needs to pass to get the job.

 

So far, Suga hopes he’s making a good impression. Jiro seems to like him. He’s yanking on Suga’s jeans still, mumbling something about being picked up. But Suga is too busy watching Oikawa’s face.

 

At the sound of Suga’s voice, Oikawa’s eyes snap back up. His smile returns full force, the crinkle between his eyebrows smoothing out. 

 

His expression’s not nearly as warm as Jiro’s. Not that that’s surprising.

 

"Of all the people I thought may show up at my door," Oikawa drawls, "I’d never expected someone like you, Mr. Refreshing."

 

There it is again. That name — Mr. Refreshing.

 

Suga isn’t sure what to make of the words "someone like you" either so he just settles for, "Well, I saw your ad at the grocery and I -"

 

But Oikawa is moving then, before Suga can finish. He takes two, long steps and suddenly all Suga can smell is what must be his cologne and that sharp smile is way, _way_ too close for comfort.

 

Suga’s breath catches in his throat with surprise, audible and loud. Oikawa’s eyes are dark with satisfaction.

 

Then he’s bending and scooping Jiro up and the tug on Suga’s jeans is gone. Oikawa swings his son up into his arms, making what sounds like an airplane noise as he does so, and the child giggles, eyes crinkling.

 

"Daddyyyy," he laughs. His voice is sweet — soft and lilting. "Do the rocket! Do the rocket!"

 

"Okay, okay, one moment, Jiro. We have a guest, remember?" Oikawa’s eyes rest on Suga’s face, heavy and uncomfortable. Suga shifts awkwardly in the front door but he straightens his shoulders under Oikawa’s gaze. 

 

The other man says "guest" the way Suga may have said "cockroach". He definitely didn’t miss that.

 

And there’s something about Oikawa’s face that seems to be daring him to something too. Like Oikawa is challenging him. To what, Suga has no idea.

 

But there’s no way in hell that he’s going to back down. Not five minutes into being here. And most of all, not to Oikawa Tooru.

 

Besides, they’re both adults now for God’s sake. So why is Suga already getting the overwhelming feeling that he’s dealing with a child? Well, a child other than Jiro. A man-child.

 

A breaths-long moment passes and then whatever weird stare-off they’re having breaks. Oikawa shifts his focus to his son. "Come on in," he says to Suga, turning around. "Unless you’d like to talk outside."

 

Then he’s lifting Jiro high above his head and making what Suga assumes is a "rocket" sound as he walks towards the back of his house. Jiro’s laughter rings out through the hall, his chubby arms outstretched like wings.

 

As soon as Oikawa’s back is turned, Suga’s shoulders drop back down from his defensive stance. He breathes out.

 

_Daichi_ , he thinks, _I’m going to kill you for talking me into this._

 

Gritting his teeth, he steps into the house, shutting the front door behind him. His irritation from the phone call has only been brought back to the surface by Oikawa’s flippant attitude but Suga bites his tongue and follows quickly.

 

The last thing he needs is to get turned around in here and have Oikawa accuse him of trying to steal something or some other horrible crime.

 

_Mr. Refreshing, huh? What the hell?_

 

It’s cool inside, blessedly. A lot cooler than his own apartment, that’s for sure.

 

Suga steps over a stuffed kitten plushie and then a set of plastic blocks, eyeing the streakof yellow paint over the right wall. It looks fresh.

 

As he moves farther into the house, he takes in other little details.

 

The floors are dark hardwood and they creak under his shoes. The room Oikawa had come out of on the right is open — no door — and looks like some kind of sitting area with a large window seat stretched along the front wall. There’s a single, framed photograph on a table, right next to a crystal vase of some pretty wildflowers.

 

In the distance, farther back, Suga can hear Jiro’s shrieks of joy still echoing off of the walls and despite himself, his own lips twitch upwards at the sound. Jiro is undeniably adorable. And sweet. Suga bets that little smile gets him almost anything he wants, from anyone.

 

_Like father, like son_ , he thinks again.

 

Except… except that Jiro is a child and Oikawa is a twenty-five — twenty-six? — year-old man who apparently remembers Suga from high school and who probably hates his guts after losing to Karasuno like that. 

 

After all, Suga had seen his face after that match. He had seen his expression before Oikawa had pulled himself together for his teammates’ sakes. 

 

And it had matched so perfectly to something deep down in Suga’s own chest… something that had been there ever since Kageyama Tobio had stepped onto Karasuno’s practice court.

 

Suga shudders in the chill of the house. He bites his lip and then keeps going from where he’s paused.

 

_God, he remembers me. He knows who I am. He probably knows I remember him too. I mean, I didn’t say I did but -_

 

_Don’t think about that right now. Just focus on the interview._

 

Suga relaxes his free hand at his side. His nails have left little half-crescents in the soft skin of his palms. It would’ve been so much easier if Oikawa hadn’t remembered him. It would’ve been a fresh start — a chance for Suga to keep everything in the past away from his present.

 

But he’s right. He needs to focus on actually getting the job first.

 

And if Oikawa asks… well, if he asks whether Suga remembers him, Suga will have to decide at that moment if he wants to tell the truth or not.

 

His thoughts are blessedly cut off as the hall finally opens up into a room that’s flooded with light. For a moment, all Suga can do is blink and let his eyes adjust. When they do, a kitchen swims into view.

 

There’s a 50s-looking fridge on the left wall — colored a mint-green that Suga thinks is much more Oikawa’s style. Beside it is a more modern-looking stove and microwave, and then the entire far wall is windows. The summer sun streams in, soaking everything in honey. To Suga’s right, there’s an alcove set back into a dome of windows — like a miniature greenhouse. Plants crowd the space along with a long, black wood breakfast table and chairs. 

 

Oikawa is by the stove, stirring something on the burner, and Jiro is seated at the table, playing with a plate of what must be lunch in front of him by the time Suga steps in with wide eyes.

 

_This place is gorgeo-_ , he starts to think… but then something very large, very furry, and very wet comes out of nowhere, nosing into Suga’s knees.

 

Sucking in a breath, Suga’s eyes drop automatically.

 

"Oh my gosh, hello." Without thinking — especially about the man only a few yards away — Suga drops to his knees, abandoning the folder with his resume in it beside him on the dark-tiled floor.

 

Suga absolutely loves dogs. He loves them to death.

 

And the dog eagerly snuffling into him as he holds his hands out now is by far the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. She — or he — looks like a golden retriever, but bigger and fluffier. Like a large, white-gold bear.

 

"You’re so pretty, aren’t you?" Suga asks, half-laughing as the dog licks at his fingers with a soft, warm tongue. Big, doe-like eyes blink at him, sweet and gentle. There’s strength though, too, in the dog’s pushing and shoving at him — and sharp teeth hidden behind that dopey muzzle. "You’re such a good boy, huh?"

 

"Girl."

 

Suga’s head snaps up. The dog keeps licking at his palms.

 

Oikawa is turned back around, leaning up against the stove with his arms crossed over his chest.

 

"What?" Suga asks. He’s suddenly very aware of the position he’s in — baby-talking Oikawa Tooru’s dog on his knees on Oikawa Tooru’s kitchen floor. He flushes hot.

 

" _Her_ name’s Halley," Oikawa continues. Suga can’t see his eyes clearly from this distance so he gets up. Halley continues to sniff and wag her tail around his ankles.

 

Again, Oikawa is watching Suga like he’s studying a science experiment. Suga can’t help but feel a little smug — first Jiro and now Halley. Both of them don’t seem to have any problem with Suga in their own home, warming up to his presence quickly. 

 

Of course, Jiro is a little too preoccupied with zooming his carrot sticks up into the air above his head — mimicking Oikawa’s noise effects from earlier — to be paying much more attention to Suga, but still.

 

The only person who seems to have a problem is…

 

"But you’re here for a babysitting position, Mr. Refreshing. Not petsitting. Unless you feel you’d be better suited for a more… _base-skills_ job. After all, you’re not really shooting for anything too high-level by coming to this, are you?"

 

Oh. That tone.

 

That tone sets Suga’s blood to simmering, despite the large, fluffy, good dog still nosing into his ankles. 

 

That tone is like nails on a chalkboard. It makes anything sound insulting. It stings.

 

And the little smirk on Oikawa’s face only adds insult to injury. Suga is more than aware of how he looks — applying for a babysitting position at the age of twenty-five so that he can pay his rent and keep his AC on.

 

He’s more than aware of how hard-hit his pride is at the moment. And he sure as hell doesn’t need Oikawa rubbing his nose in it.

 

Something burns deep in his chest, welling up until all Suga can feel is a smile tilting his own lips up in answer. A sweet and innocent smile. Maybe a little too sweet if the amount of teeth he can feel he’s showing is anything to go by.

 

"I’d say anything having to do with you is pretty high-maintenance already, isn’t it?"

 

The words slip out before Suga can think that maybe insulting his potential employer is a bad idea. 

 

But he doesn’t regret it. If Oikawa’s going to be an ass then Suga will look elsewhere. He’s not going to deal with everything else in his life _and_ a bad attitude just so that he can stop eating cup noodles.

 

There are plenty of other spots around town that would pay close to the same.

 

Oddly enough, Oikawa doesn’t really look like he’s taken offense. He looks surprised, maybe. If that’s what the subtle blink had meant. 

 

Then he’s turning back around so that Suga can’t see his face and the conversation changes.

 

"Jiro," he says and the five year-old stops flying his carrots into outer space and looks over towards his father. Oikawa keeps speaking, pulling out two mugs from a cabinet and pouring whatever he’d been stirring into each of them.

 

"Daddy’s going to go talk to our guest right next door, okay? Be a good boy and finish your carrots and then we can play rocket again this afternoon. Does that sound good?"

 

Suga watches Jiro bounce up and down on his chair, nodding fiercely before he realizes his father can’t actually see him. His little bangs flop into his eyes. 

 

"Yes! I’ll eat all of them, Daddy!"

 

"That’s my boy."

 

There’s a smile in Oikawa’s voice then and Suga blinks at it, taken aback by how _soft_ the other man’s voice sounds when he answers. His eyes flick from Jiro to Oikawa’s back.

 

Of course he sounds soft, loving. Oikawa obviously loves his son. That much had been apparent from the very beginning, standing there at the front door.

 

It’s just… new. Suga doesn’t know what it makes him feel.

 

He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it. Oikawa turns back around, away from the stove.

 

Suga picks up his folder from the ground quickly. Halley nudges at his hand.

 

"There’s a study through there," Oikawa says, gesturing with the mug in his right hand to a small door close to where Jiro is sitting. There’s a staircase too, Suga notices.

 

He hadn’t seen it when first entering because it’s set back a little bit from the kitchen entrance, but black-iron stairs spiral upwards. Suga can’t see what’s at the top. Curiosity burns at his fingertips.

 

But Oikawa is disappearing through the door, shoving it open with a foot, and Suga follows, shooting Halley and Jiro one last look. Halley’s tail wags behind her like a fan, swishing through the air. Jiro has turned back to his carrots.

 

_If he’s this well-behaved, this job will be a piece of cake._ Smiling, Suga leaves the two of them behind.

 

The room him and Oikawa walk into is most definitely a study. It’s just as sun-filled as the kitchen and the beams fall across a giant desk the same color as the kitchen table and a high-backed chair behind it. There are shelves on two walls, floor-to-ceiling, crammed full of books.

 

_Fundamentals of Astrodynamics._ Suga reads one spine, his eyes fluttering curiously to the next. _Orbital Mechanics. Huh._

 

It’s interesting. Suga had never even considered space as one of Oikawa’s interests… but then again, he hadn’t known much about Oikawa before now at all. He’d really only known what the magazines had told him — and what his heart had told him facing Oikawa on the court. Play smart.

 

Right now, Suga isn’t sure if he’s off to a great start at "playing smart". Not by sassing Oikawa.

 

Too bad. Oikawa had practically asked for it. Suga had just been returning the favor.

 

"Go ahead and sit down," Oikawa mutters, setting the mugs down on the desk and circling around to the chair. "Make yourself at home."

 

Suga kind of wants to laugh at that. There’s no way he’s ever going to feel "at home" here. Especially not in this room, surrounded by dust motes dancing lazily through the thick, heavy air and Oikawa Tooru facing him down across a desk. Suddenly Suga wishes they could’ve just talked in the kitchen. At least then there would’ve been witnesses to his potential murder.

 

_A five year-old_ , a snarky, little voice says in the back of Suga’s head. _And a dog. Not the best witnesses. Just make it through the interview. Then you can leave and never come back if you want._

 

Suga sits in the smaller, leather chair in front of Oikawa’s desk. Whatever’s in those mugs smells amazing. Hints of cinnamon and honey drift to Suga’s nose, steam curling up into the air.

 

He’s assuming one of those is for him but he also just called Oikawa "high-maintenance" so Suga doesn’t make a move to touch.

 

Oikawa shifts some papers out of the way, then a few books. There’s a sort of organized chaos going on in this room — papers everywhere, stacks of books teetering in the corners, a calculator thrown halfway across the room. Suga tries to read more of the book titles but he can’t from here.

 

Besides, Oikawa is sitting down and leaning back, regarding Suga over the polished wood with dark eyes.

 

Suga stares back.

 

_Not this again. Not another stare-off._

 

Thankfully Oikawa blinks. It’s that odd blink from the kitchen again, like he’s surprised but dead-set on not expressing it. It’s slow, a cat’s-eye blink that makes Suga wonder what exactly he’s thinking.

 

If only he could see into Oikawa’s complicated head, just a little -

 

"So, Mr. Refreshing -"

 

"You can call me Suga," Suga interjects, bristling at the nickname. He doesn’t know what it means but that doesn’t mean he likes it. Oikawa doesn’t even know him.

 

"- you’re here to interview for the possible chance to take care of my Jiro, correct?" Oikawa keeps speaking as if Suga hadn’t said anything, crossing his legs.

 

Suga sighs. The overwhelming urge to rub his eyes hits him.

 

Then he remembers he’s supposed to be in interview mode. He’s supposed to be collected, polite. Professional.

 

"Yes," he answers, swallowing down his irritation. Oikawa smiles. Suga wants to punch him.

 

"Good boy."

 

"Excuse me?" Suga gapes, sitting up straighter in his seat. What the hell did he just -

 

"I said good. Now, question number one. Have you ever taken care of a five year-old before?"

 

Suga’s brain hurts from trying to keep up. Did Oikawa just call him "good boy" or is he actually just delusional? Does it matter?

 

The more Suga is here, the more he’s convinced that Daichi is wrong. Suga can do better. He begins to answer the question anyway.

 

"Um, no. But I used to take care of my sister’s -"

 

"Question two," Oikawa interrupts, smiling wider and rocking side-to-side in his chair. He looks like a cat with a mouse. "Do you know first-aid?"

 

Suga’s eyes are narrowed despite his best efforts to stay composed. He can feel his temper stretching, burning down in his stomach. It feels like Oikawa’s just fucking with him by now, but still, Suga tries to answer.

 

"I took a class on first-aid back in -," he begins, his words short and clipped. His voice is cold and clear-cut, like glass.

 

"Question number three."

 

_This isn’t happening_ , Suga thinks, as Oikawa leans across the desk, interjecting once again. The other man’s smile is gone. His eyes are narrowed and for a second the two of them glare at each other. 

 

Suga almost feels relieved. At least they’re not trying to hide their distaste for each other any longer. At least they’re finally being honest.

 

Suga’s gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. His heart is beating hot and fast in his chest. Anger wells up now, so much stronger than irritation.

 

Until Oikawa speaks.

 

"Do you remember me, Mr. Refreshing?"

 

One, single shock goes right through Suga’s stomach. He feels like he’s just dropped over the edge of a rollercoaster. All of the sudden he’s back in high school, standing on that court. 

 

All of the sudden, Suga can feel the heat of the crowd. He can feel the beat of his pulse at his wrists as he watches. He can feel the elation, the explosion of noise, the strong arms of his teammates after that final point. He can feel _everything_.

 

And he can see Oikawa’s face. He sees his face across the net. He sees that expression.

 

"What?" Suga asks now. He hates how breathless he sounds. He hates how shitty he feels, just from a mere memory.

 

Oikawa’s chin tilts upwards. He looks at Suga the way Suga imagines he would look at a piece of gum on his shoe and Suga feels like baring his teeth, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides. The two mugs lay forgotten between them, growing cold.

 

"I said, do you remember me? You went to Karasuno. I remember you, Mr. Refreshing. And your annoying teammates."

 

Suga’s nails bite into his palms.

 

"Well I don’t," he says coldly. "I don’t remember you or your team."

 

_That’s a lie_ , his brain whispers. _That’s not true._ Suga shoves it away. His throat is tight. His skin burns under the surface.

 

"Mm, I guess you wouldn’t," Oikawa answers and his voice is low and lazy, dark. Suga’s hit some kind of nerve. The same anger Suga feels rising up inside him is reflected in Oikawa’s eyes. There’s something else there too. Pain maybe. Suga doesn’t care.

 

That match was seven years ago. _Seven_ years ago. They’re not here to talk about old high school matches. They’re not here to bring back painful memories.

 

Suga is just here for a fucking jo-

 

"Because if I recall, you spent most of your time on the bench, didn’t you?"

 

Oh. Oh, those words _hurt_. They’re a slap to Suga’s face. His cheeks burn.

 

And his response is so, so easy to spit out. Too easy.

 

"And if I recall, you and your team still lost, didn’t you?"

 

Oikawa recoils. He’s got his elbows off of the desk and he’s leaning back in his chair, like Suga’s physically shoved him. His face looks bloodless.

 

Suga stands up. He grabs his folder with shaking hands, curling his fingers so tightly around it that it crumples and bends under the pressure, rustling.

 

"This was a bad idea," he hears himself saying. Oikawa doesn’t speak. He just watches Suga with unreadable eyes and a flat mouth. "Sorry for wasting both of our time."

 

Then, without waiting for Oikawa to say something — to do something — Suga turns and pushes out of the study. Halley and Jiro look up in tandem at the sudden movement, a carrot dropping to roll across the tiled floor. 

 

"It was nice to meet you, Jiro," Suga manages to say, smiling at the child who’s looking at him with eyes as wide as his father’s had been a second ago. "And you too, Halley."

 

The dog snuffles at Suga’s hand once more, her eyes dark and wet as she huffs up at him.

 

It would’ve been nice to get to know these two, Suga thinks. Too bad he’s never coming back.

 

With that resolve firmly in mind, Suga turns and leaves, walking quickly down the long, dark hallway to the front door and yanking it open. The heat hits him like a punch to the gut but it feels good on his face, against his cold hands.

 

Then he heads down the drive, the gravel crunching under his shoes — headed towards home.

 

And he leaves Oikawa Tooru behind, the sun burning on the back of his neck like eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Daichi bc you can bet that he's the first person Suga's gonna call right now, oops
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I'll be trying to update regularly, along with keeping my other long-fic "[parallel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497719/chapters/33491571)" posting frequently ♥︎
> 
> Blog --> [Hereeeee](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

Suga hates him.

 

He _hates_ Oikawa. 

 

The front door to Suga’s crappy apartment slams shut behind him and he automatically stalks to his bedroom, peeling off his sweaty clothes. They pile, wrinkled and limp, into the corner where he chucks them.

 

He had walked all of the way home. He hadn’t even noticed the distance or the heat beating down on his head.

 

All Suga had been able to feel was rage and then, after that, an odd, tingling numbness.

 

Now he’s regretting it. He’s _aching_. Every inch of him hurts. He’s drenched in sweat.

 

He’s exhausted.

 

The shower-head turns on with a plaintive whine. 

 

For a few moments, Suga just stands under the spray and he doesn’t think at all. The water is turned to cold and the shock of it feels so nice on the back of his neck. It numbs the burn he can already feel starting to creep up over his throat and face — the skin that had been exposed to the sun the entire way back.

 

Then, when he’s shivering and his fingertips are white, he turns it off and bypasses the tub. He’s too tired to fill it up.

 

Pulling on underwear and a loose pair of sweatpants, Suga crawls into his bed and he shoves his face into his pillow. He yanks his covers up over himself and his head and he crushes the pillow close to his face, smothering himself.

 

And then he shouts. He yells — an unintelligible, muffled noise — as loud as he can into the fabric until the lump in his throat is gone.

 

When he’s gone quiet again, Suga finally lets himself roll over onto his back. He drags the covers back down over his face and stares at the ceiling.

 

_Never again._ The thought floats light and downy through his head. _Never, ever again._

 

He’s never going back to that house.

 

God. How had it gone so wrong so fast? How had - how had it all just crashed down like that?

 

Suga had been wary of going… but not because he thought Oikawa would bring it all back up. He hadn’t expected _that_ , if he’s being honest with himself right now. 

 

He had been more afraid of remembering. He had been afraid of what memories just being in Oikawa’s presence would bring back up in his own head. But not of… not of that. Not of what had actually happened.

 

Suga’s back twinges. His feet are sore. His mouth feels dry when he licks his lips and remembers.

 

What had happened… what had actually happened had been so much worse.

 

Oikawa had been… colder than what Suga had imagined in his head. He had been vicious. Unyielding and sharp and so bitter Suga had been able to taste it on his tongue.

 

Suga hadn’t been much better, he supposes. 

 

He crinkles his nose and a distant flush of faint shame blooms over his cheeks. No, he hadn’t been much better… especially not with that one-liner at the end.

 

_And if I recall, you and your team still lost, didn’t you?_

 

Suga bites at his lower lip and turns over onto his side. He curls his knees up to his chest and just breathes, his thin sheets growing damp beneath him from his wet hair and the sheen of water still clinging to his bare skin.

 

Yeah, it had been harsh. But Suga can’t deny that Oikawa had asked for it.

 

_Because if I recall, you spent most of your time on the bench, didn’t you?_

 

Even now those words sting. They bite deep and Suga grimaces and squeezes his eyes shut.

 

It doesn’t matter. That was years ago. This is now.

 

It doesn’t matter. None of it.

 

All that means anything right now is the feel of the mattress beneath Suga’s tired limbs and aching head. He’s cold, despite the summer heat melting at the windows and pushing through his closed blinds.

 

So he tugs the blankets back up around his chin and he keeps his eyes closed and he forgets.

 

He forgets he ever met Oikawa Tooru.

 

_—————————————————————————————————-_

 

_"Wait, wait, wait. He said_ what _?"_

 

Suga bites his tongue, rubbing at his eyes with the hand that’s not cradling his cellphone to his ear.

 

_What time is it?_ he wonders, squinting at the windows. He’s just woken up, jerked to consciousness by the shrill shriek of his phone.

 

"He said, um," he answers Daichi, running his tongue over his teeth. God how long did he sleep for? Suga feels like he’s been run over by a mack truck.

 

"He said," he starts again, "he said I was on the bench a lot back in high school."

 

There’s silence for a moment. Suga isn’t sure he’s making much sense and he licks his lips to try again. His brain is too foggy for him to form the right words.

 

"He said he remembered me. Us. He remembers us, Karasuno. He said we were annoying."

 

Daichi scoffs, the noise crackling over the poor connection. _"Annoying? He said_ we _were annoying? Has he met himself?"_

 

There’s a beat of silence. Suga feels woozy and he doesn’t know what words to use right now. He needs to brush his teeth.

 

Then Daichi’s voice comes back over the line.

 

_"Kou, listen, about the bench thing… you know it didn’t matter right? Don’t listen to that -"_

 

"Dai, it’s okay." Suga is beginning to feel more awake now and he’s kind of wishing he were still asleep. "He wasn’t wrong."

 

It has to be nighttime outside. The sun is gone from behind the blinds. Suga’s hair sticks up at an odd angle when he reaches up to run his fingers through it, from where it’s dried against his pillow. His stomach rumbles and he places a hand there, against his bare skin. He’s hot again — sticky and sweaty and he kicks the blankets off to the floor.

 

_"So what?"_ Daichi is saying and he sounds angry. _"So what if you were on the sidelines? You were just as important to our team as anyone else. You held us together."_

 

Suga rubs his eyes again. 

 

"Thanks, Dai," he murmurs. He doesn’t really want to talk about it but he appreciates the effort. He really does.

 

_"Koushi,"_ Daichi starts again but Suga interrupts, letting himself sink back into his pillows.

 

"I’ve gotta go," he says softly. "I have a paper to finish."

 

Daichi is quiet. Suga wonders what he’s doing. Maybe he’s cooking dinner. Or maybe he had been in the middle of one of those horrible dramas he secretly recorded to watch on the weekends.

 

Whatever he had been doing, Suga knows his friend is now debating whether to push or let it go for tonight. He can almost see Daichi’s face — dark brows furrowed.

 

"I’m okay," Suga decides to add, making his voice as bright as he can. "I just woke up, that’s why I sound tired. And I really do need to get started. Mayu will win that spot for sure if I don’t."

 

_"Kou, please. Just take a break tonight, okay? I know when you’re upset, so don’t even try that fake, smiley stuff. And forget about Mayu. You’re going to win, I know it. She doesn’t have anything on you."_

 

Suga smiles a little at that. It’s real and genuine and suddenly he feels like crying, just a little. He blinks up at the water-stained ceiling to push the feeling back.

 

"You’re a sweetheart, Sawamura Daichi," he chokes out after what feels like an eternity.

 

_"You mean I’m your best friend, Sugawara Koushi. And you’re too hard on yourself. I’m always going to believe in you."_

 

Oh boy. Now is definitely the time to hang up… especially before Daichi gets to listen to him cry over the phone. 

 

"Shut up, dummy," Suga jokes. His throat is tight. And then, "I love you, you know that."

 

Daichi laughs and it’s bright and loud and Suga squeezes his eyes shut and ignores the pang in his chest — the homesickness that sound elicits so, so easily.

 

_"I love you too, Koushi. Now go get something good for dinner and get some sleep, okay? Promise me."_

 

Suga smiles, shaking his head in exasperation even if Daichi can’t see him.

 

"Yeah, yeah, don’t worry Dad. I’ll be good."

 

Another laugh. This time Suga manages to ignore the horrible ache just under his ribcage a little better. He lifts himself off of the futon to stand.

 

_"Are you ever?"_ Daichi teases. Suga laughs lightly. He grabs a t-shirt from his little closet, taking the phone away from his ear and putting it on speaker to slip it on over his head.

 

_"But seriously. Super duper promise me."_

 

Suga groans, grabbing his phone and heading to the kitchen that’s more a single countertop than anything. "Seriously, Dai? I said that when we were like, fifteen."

 

_"Yeah, but it works doesn’t it? I distinctly remember you saying, 'If someone super duper promises, it’s for real.'"_

 

Suga cringes. 

 

_"Super duper promiiiiiise,"_ Daichi croons and Suga groans again, his lips twitching afterwards.

 

"Fine, fine," he relents. "I super duper promise you that I’ll get food and go to sleep right after. Happy?"

 

_"Yes, very, thank you."_

 

Suga grabs his shoes where he had dropped them unceremoniously earlier just outside the genkan and places them neatly back on the tile.

 

"K, well good. Goodnight grandpa. I’ll call you tomorrow."

 

_"Goodnight, Suga-san,"_ Daichi says fondly and then there’s the soft click of the line and Suga is left with nothing but a faint buzzing in his ear.

 

He puts his phone down. He wraps his arms around his waist. He stands in the middle of his quiet kitchen with his feet sticking to the tile floor and he almost grabs his laptop from the counter where he’s left it.

 

It’s tempting. It’s so, so tempting to break his promise to Daichi. Suga’s fingers itch to pick it up, grab another mug of whiskey, and sit down on his threadbare couch to work. It would be so satisfying to let his fingers dance over those plastic keys.

 

He could be done by two at least. He’d finish up that paper that’s due at the end of next week and have plenty of time to read it over tomorrow after his shift at the convenience store. Tuesday he could turn it in and get that extra credit his instructor had promised. It would be just one step closer… one step closer to winning that spot. 

 

One step closer to proving what he’s been trying to prove so desperately since high school.

 

One step closer to -

 

_If someone super duper promises, then it’s for real._

 

Suga bites his lower lip. He remembers that day… the day he’d said that. It had been hot and muggy and Daichi had looked at him with big, brown eyes and then smiled so big that they’d crinkled up, lost in it. Suga remembers the loop of their pinkies together, sealing the deal. Sealing a promise that couldn’t be broken, that he had kept for the next three years.

 

"Damn it, Dai," Suga murmurs now in the present.

 

He turns away from the laptop and to his compact fridge instead.

 

Opening it, he crinkles his nose. A half-eaten apple sits withered and brown inside. And two eggs. It looks like he’ll be going out for something tonight. Or he could just make something really easy — pasta, he has that in the cabinets, Suga sees with some relief. And a lone jar of tomato ketchup too.

 

Pasta it is then.

 

While the water is boiling on the gas burner he’s wrestled from the lower cabinets, Suga does a few chores he’s been pushing off. He folds the basket of fresh laundry in the corner of his room and sorts through the mail he’s shoved under his futon. There’re two thick envelopes, no doubt the monthly bills for rent and tuition. Suga leaves them unopened for now, a bead of sweat trailing down the back of his neck. Then he’s back to the kitchen, washing the few dirty dishes in the sink and putting them away.

 

He’s doing it because he needs to, Suga tells himself. He’s been so busy with school — the summer term blossoming into a full-time frenzy — that he hasn’t had time to clean up around the apartment.

 

That’s what he tells himself anyway. Suga refuses to acknowledge that it’s for any other reason. He’s not thinking about this morning any more tonight.

 

The water is bubbling by the time Suga’s stashed away the last cup. He adds a little oil from the small jar he keeps near the stove and then the pasta, watching the spaghetti slowly soften and droop. 

 

He really wishes he had some onions or green peppers lying around. Maybe a few strips of bacon that he could fry a little and throw on top.

 

But Suga shakes away the desire. He has this and it’s enough.

 

The spaghetti strains easily in the sink once it’s finished and Suga dumps the small portion into a clean bowl and adds a healthy amount of tomato ketchup, mixing it carefully.

 

When he’s finished, it’s over to the couch to finally sit down.

 

_Okay_ , Suga thinks while he eats. _This is okay._

 

He’s not sure if he means the food or how he feels right now. Whichever it is, okay is a good word for it.

 

The couch is thin and Suga can always feel the springs beneath the cushions but it’s big enough that he can stretch out, one of his knees popping when he extends his legs. He doesn’t really feel like sitting at the kotatsu tonight. The pasta is good — even if it’s missing some key ingredients and Suga desperately craves something spicy. And the air conditioning isn’t running but it sounds like rain outside. There’s a slight reprieve in the heat, Suga notices. It’s cooler in here, despite the thin layer of sweat cooling over his skin from cooking.

 

Okay. This is okay.

 

All of his worrying — all of his frustration and guilt — can wait until tomorrow. His paper can wait until tomorrow. He may be working a late shift, but he’ll get home early enough to work. Maybe Aoi-san will let him go early too, if it’s not busy.

 

Suga finishes his food and washes his bowl. Then he ignores the part of him that’s screaming at him to grab his laptop and work some and he checks the lock on the front door, turns off the lights, and crawls into his bed.

 

The rain is the softest of sounds on his windows. It hushes and wavers, sometimes heavier and sometimes slowing down to the faintest trickle.

 

Suga lets his mind run blank. He imagines that he’s taking the prettiest lavender paint and coating his drab, peeling walls in it. Up and down and up and down, painting strokes of it while the rain continues to feather down over his head.

 

Eventually his limbs loosen. Eventually his fingers stop itching to push himself up, to grab the chunky monstrosity his old laptop truly is and type until the early morning.

 

Eventually Suga finds himself sinking down into the futon — shifting and stretching out, the hem of his t-shirt riding up — and his mind goes truly and completely blank.

 

He falls asleep thinking of absolutely nothing but the weight of his tired limbs against the quilted mattress.

 

—————————————————————————————————-

 

The air in the store is always thick and muggy, like soup. Suga should technically be used to it by now.

 

But it doesn’t stop him from plucking at his itchy apron and grumbling under his breath.

 

God it’s horrible in here tonight. He can already feel his hair curling at the nape of his neck with the humidity. The old, rusty fan in the corner is wheezing as it whirls, blowing out lukewarm air. A fly drones sleepily by one of the front windows and Suga is pretty sure the man who’s been lurking near the cup noodles for ten odd minutes is really here for condoms. He keeps glancing over at where they’re shelved every time the fan sputters — like he’s just interested in where the noise is coming from.

 

Suga sighs and taps his fingers in a rhythmless beat. Outside the streetlights flicker, caught in the deep, dark night. A couple walks by, hand in hand, their fingers illuminated by the harsh fluorescents inside. A stray wind blows a plastic bag down the road.

 

It’s late — maybe edging close to midnight — and Suga still has two hours of his shift left. Aoi-san, his supervisor, is out sick — a summer cold. Which means Suga isn’t getting off early tonight. He has to stay until the next employee shows up to take over.

 

_It’ll be okay_ , he reassures himself. _You’ll get the paper done tonight. Just grab some coffee before you go and you can sleep in tomorrow._

 

Even so, Suga’s heart flutters in his chest. The worst part is that he’s not busy right now. 

 

There had been a spill in Aisle 3 and he’d mopped it up two hours ago. He’s restocked the shelves that needed to be restocked, checked the hot drinks fridge to make sure it hadn’t fizzled out sometime in the day (it tends to do that from time to time), and helped a girl pack up nearly thirty cheese buns for God knew what.

 

Now he’s counting the seconds that tick by on the clock on the far wall. His brain feels like mush.

 

He could be _working_. He could be actually writing his paper or paying a bill that’s overdue… or cross-checking the grades he’ll need to earn to get that spot.

 

_You’ve obsessed over that for months now, Koushi_ , he tells himself, swatting when the fly decides to bump into the side of his cheek and then tumble away again with a low hum. _You know what you have to do._

 

Yeah, he guesses he’s right. Still. His stomach turns just thinking about it.

 

He knows Mayu could overtake him easily. He’s not stupid.

 

He knows they’re neck and neck in the program. Despite what Daichi had said last night, Suga knows just how good his classmate is.

 

As for himself…

 

Writing has always been something that came easily to him. He had started in high school, just for fun. It had been an itch that he had scratched.

 

And then Suga had grown to love it. He had grown to love writing more than anything he had ever loved before — telling stories, telling other people’s histories and lives, had lit up something within him.

 

So, four years after graduating from Karasuno and a year after graduating uni, Suga had been disappointed to find himself in a cubicle — working for a corporation that sold coffee machines of all things.

 

He had quit. 

 

The entire two days leading up to his decision, Suga hadn’t slept. He was crazy, he told himself. Crazy to just throw away a four year-degree because he wasn’t happy. Crazy to start over, truly and completely. 

 

But he had been accepted. He had been accepted to Nihon University and their graduate program for journalism. There had been a spot just waiting for him to take it.

 

So he had. Despite the utter disappointment on his parents’ faces when he’d told them — despite the bitterness he had felt when his boss had lectured him about leaving — Suga had turned in his resignation and he had moved out here.

 

He doesn’t regret it even though it’s been hard… but he’s terrified.

 

There’s a prize at the end, if he works hard enough. There’s a position with a prestigious publishing firm for the top student in their class when the year is up… and Suga wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything in his entire life.

 

This time he can’t be outdone. This time he can’t fall to the skill of someone else who’s better than him.

 

This time there can’t be a Kageyama Tobio who walks onto the court and upstages him in every way possible.

 

Suga squeezes his eyes shut and grips the sticky edge of the counter. He should be home working right now… but he can’t. This job and bartending on the odd weekend are the only sources of income he has. He _needs_ this job.

 

Daichi has tried to help him. Suga’s fingers curl tighter as he thinks back. He’s refused so many times that now he’ll just find a crumpled bill secretly snuck into his jeans or in his couch whenever Daichi takes the three-hour train to visit.

 

_Super duper promise me_ , he wants to tell his best friend. _Super duper promise me that you’ll never leave me, no matter how many times I refuse your help._

 

The fly drones down past Suga’s ear, buzzing loud enough for his eyes to flicker open. His knuckles are white, he sees when he looks down. They’re white where he’s gripping the edge of the countertop and this heat — this muggy, stifling heat reminds him again of the first time he had said those three words to Daichi, all of those years ago.

 

He remembers standing in the gym at Karasuno. He remembers the smell of floor wax and sweat and wood like it was only yesterday. 

 

_I’ll do my best. If someone super duper promises, it’s for real. So I super duper promise you that I’ll play by your side and I’ll be the best I can be._

 

Suga needs to win that spot. He has to win this time.

 

He _aches_ to win that position… and he needs to be able to prove it to himself. He needs to be able to prove to himself that he -

 

The bell above the front door tinkles clear and bright as someone pushes it open. Suga straightens up and readjusts his frock. The man by the cup noodles is gone and the fly has disappeared to, it seems. The fan continues to turn side to side, the air ghosting across the back of Suga’s sweaty neck.

 

And he’s got his mouth open to greet the newcomer to the store — eyes flickering up from the scuffed-up tennis shoes he sees first, past long, long legs, up to a white t-shirt and a black baseball cap — when every hair on Suga’s body stands straight up.

 

He knows that figure. He knows that face and oh, does he feel those eyes the moment they lock with his across the dull, tile floor.

 

"Cool-san!"

 

Suga’s eyes snap down. He thinks he flinches a little but he hopes not. He won’t give _him_ the satisfaction.

 

It’s Jiro though, who Suga focuses on first. Jiro, who’s beaming up at him from the ground… and who’s obviously sick.

 

Even from here, Suga can see how red the little five year-old’s nose is. There’s a flush too, dusting the tops of his cherubic cheeks — but he seems happy to see Suga. He’s grinning, large and wide and bright and Suga is having the oddest sense of déjà vu.

 

_Cool-san?_ Suga wonders dimly, somewhere over the rushing noise in his ears.

 

The moment he glances up from Jiro’s outburst, he finds Oikawa’s eyes again… and happy is the last thing the other man seems to be, his mouth curling up at the edges. Suga could say the same for himself. He feels like he’s just eaten every single one of those cheese buns from earlier — heavy and sick.

 

But he swallows past the dryness in his throat. He lets go of the countertop and straightens his shoulders. He braces himself.

 

And then he speaks. "Welcome to 7-Eleven, Oikawa- _san_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I laughed out loud when I re-read through this to edit and got to Suga saying "Welcome to 7-Eleven" so I had to keep it in there even if it sounds ridiculous)
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter (and the cliffhanger of course ☺️) and don't forget to comment/leave kudos if you really feel like it <333
> 
> (Oh also, if anyone sees something I've goofed up in terms of honorifics or Suga's apartment layout, etc. feel free to leave me a note so I can fix it!)
> 
>  
> 
> [Blog](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

It’s almost comical how dumbstruck Oikawa looks — long lashes fluttering, mouth half-cracked in surprise and irritation, nose scrunched up.

 

On one hand, Suga takes great pleasure in seeing the grand Oikawa Tooru speechless for once. It’s a sight he could really get used to.

 

On the other, he’s very, very, painfully aware of his cheap, scratchy work apron and the bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Suga knows his cheeks are flushed. He can feel the crawl of heat even more prominently in the whoosh of air from the opening of the automatic doors. His hair is probably frizzy too, from the humidity.

 

Oikawa though, looks as cool as a cucumber. Suga grits his teeth in annoyance. Oikawa’s wearing a pair of skinny jeans that make his legs look even longer and the hair that’s escaping his ball-cap falls flawlessly over his forehead.

 

The only thing that’s not so flawless is the opening and closing of Oikawa’s mouth. He gapes at Suga like a fish out of water… until Jiro tugs hard on his father’s hand, pointing at Suga with an excited finger.

 

"Cool-san," he repeats in his baby babbling way, cute and high-pitched. It seems to break Oikawa’s buffering expression because he blinks twice and then straightens up to his full height, snapping his mouth closed and glaring at Suga’s forehead.

 

Suga feels his heart do a little thump but he matches Oikawa’s stance, eyes narrowed. It’s a little ridiculous he realizes — two grown adults facing each other like boxers in a ring.

 

Still, it feels good when Oikawa sniffs disdainfully and then tries to tug Jiro towards the back of the store, pretending like Suga isn’t there at all. It fills Suga with an odd sense of satisfaction that Oikawa apparently finds it easier to wholly avoid him rather than try confronting him or pulling him apart with careful, snide remarks.

 

But Jiro doesn’t budge. As Suga watches — a chill going down his spine from the sweat pooling at the small of his back — Jiro’s lower lip wobbles and then pouts. He frowns up at Oikawa with all of the charming petulance of a five year-old and jabs his finger back towards Suga again.

 

"Cool-san," he says for the third time and when Oikawa’s eyes flicker up to meet Suga’s curious ones Suga finally gets it.

 

Mr. Refreshing. Cool-san. 

 

_Really?_ he thinks but he doesn’t say anything out loud. He just turns to the gum rack on the front counter and pretends to organize a few packages, counting out the bright plastic boxes in his head.

 

"Come on, Jiro," Suga listens to Oikawa say. His voice is firm and fatherly, in that way Suga remembers from his own childhood. It’s weird and Suga kind of wishes Daichi were here to witness it too… but then again, Suga had watched Oikawa with Jiro at home already so it’s not as surprising.

 

Oikawa keeps talking. Suga keeps listening out of sheer curiosity… and because he can’t really avoid it. Stupid job. Stupid night shift.

 

"We’re going to go on an adventure, remember? A treasure hunt to make you feel better. Remember what Dr. Nakamura said? She said you could be an astronaut and -"

 

" _Cool-san_. I want to go talk to Cool-san."

 

Suga’s lips twitch. He’s not sure what he’d done to deserve Jiro’s undivided attention but it’s kind of funny to listen to… the satisfaction is even sweeter when he hears Oikawa swear softly under his breath.

 

Suga reaches out to mindlessly reorganize the gum boxes, still listening. 

 

He’s expecting Oikawa to tug Jiro to the back with promises of space adventures and maybe a sweet treat if he’s good. He’s expecting to ring up their purchases with the most fake, sweetest smile he can muster while Oikawa stays stone-faced and aloof. He’s expecting to watch the two of them leave and then finish up the rest of his shift in peace until he can get home and text Daichi a, _"Can you believe it?? It’s like I can’t get away from him and you shoulda seen his face. Like he was passing a kidney stone."_

 

What Suga is _not_ expecting is for there to be footsteps and then the rough clearing of a throat right in front of the checkout counter.

 

_Fuck._

 

Suga stays focused on the gum packets. He doesn’t look up because maybe if he feigns stupidity, _he’ll_ go away.

 

A second passes. Then two.

 

Suga is just beginning to get his hopes up when that annoying fake cough comes again, this time with a resounding air of impatience.

 

_Well then_ , Suga thinks with a sudden flare of irritation. _I’d better do my job._

 

Slamming the current plastic packet of gum in his hand down on the countertop, Suga raises his head and aims his best how-can-I-help-you-I-want-to-kill-you customer service smile up at Oikawa Tooru, who he knows is standing there before he looks.

 

"Yes?" he adds on without falter. "How can I help you?"

 

Sure enough, Suga’s looking straight at Oikawa’s disgruntled face. The briefest flash of surprise at the aggressive greeting flashes through the other man’s eyes… but before Suga can relish in it too long, it’s gone.

 

Then Oikawa’s opening his mouth.

 

"I won’t play games and pretend like you didn’t hear everything from a minute ago," Oikawa sniffs, tilting his jaw up haughtily like he’s expecting Suga to argue or something. "So I’m leaving Jiro here. I’ll be right back."

 

"Say please."

 

The words slip from Suga’s lips before he can regret them or even second-guess the reaction they’ll elicit. Maybe it’s because he’s exhausted. Maybe it’s because Oikawa’s casual demanding is so irritating that Suga feels his calm facade chip a little and break. Maybe it’s because Suga is already up to his brains in stress and he can’t handle even the barest bit more.

 

"Excuse me?"

 

Oikawa’s voice is more high-pitched than Suga’s heard it before… not that he’s heard it all that often in his lifetime.

 

"I said, 'say please'." 

 

Well, there’s no point in going back now. Somehow, Suga even manages to keep the polite smile fixed firmly in place.

 

Oikawa’s pretty little mouth twists up and then down, words seeming to get stuck there behind his teeth. Jiro blinks up at his father and then at Suga, long lashes fanning down over his rosy cheeks. The fly is back, bumping and droning into the side of Suga’s shoulder.

 

He ignores it.

 

The seconds draw on, ticking by with the rotation of the fan behind the counter… and for a moment, Suga is sure Oikawa won’t cave. He’ll pick Jiro up and leave, find another late-night convenience store to storm into and command with his fuming, towering presence.

 

But…

 

But then Oikawa’s mouth slides open, just the barest bit. His eyes are narrowed so thinly all Suga can see are two slivers of burning copper and the baseball cap does nothing but shadow his elegant face until he looks partly like a charcoal drawing in some museum and -

 

"Please." 

 

The word drops like a bomb in the muggy, salty air. Oikawa’s lips clamp back together right after, like he can take it back.

 

But Suga’s already heard it. He’s already tasted the sweet fizz of satisfaction.

 

Suga’s smile shifts, wider and brighter and it’s genuine. It’s oh so real and it feels so good and he can’t help it, he just has to -

 

"Good boy."

 

Oikawa’s eyes flash open, mouth dropping in indignation and Suga turns before he can ruin his victory with a laugh. He gestures over his shoulder with a flippant hand.

 

"Go on and grab what you need. I’ll watch Jiro-kun until then."

 

Organizing the cigarette packs this time prove to be a satisfactory distraction until Suga hears Oikawa stop seething from behind him and storm away.

 

Then Suga’s heaving out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and turning back around.

 

Jiro blinks up at him with wide, soft eyes… like he’s looking at a unicorn or some other equally-cryptic creature.

 

_Well_ , Suga thinks smugly, _it probably isn’t every day he sees his father not get his way._

 

Not that Jiro understood any of that, but still… the idea is satisfactory enough to leave Suga grinning at him.

 

"Hello, Jiro-kun. Sounds like someone has a little cold, huh? Here, come here. I’ll let you sit up on the counter but promise you won’t tell anyone, okay?"

 

Jiro’s face immediately lights up and he nods so fast his bangs flop into his eyes. Suga feels whatever tension Oikawa had brought into the store with him melt away at the sight.

 

God, the kid is cute.

 

_How did Oikawa make something so innocent and -_ , Suga finds himself wondering before he stops himself. It feels a little too malicious. He’s got a pretty strong feeling that Oikawa is a good father… even if he is lacking in some social pleasantries.

 

"Okayyy," Suga sings, reaching out for Jiro to grab onto his arms so he can hoist the child up onto the low-sitting counter. He’s light and warm, probably a bit more than usual due to his cold. His cheeks are so pink Suga’s almost worried that he has a low-grade fever. "There we go. Now you’re a real explorer. Tell me what you see from this great mountain view."

 

He makes his voice dramatic on purpose and watches Jiro’s little face grow brighter with excitement. After all, Suga hadn’t spent hours watching his twin nephews and not learnt anything.

 

Jiro’s mouth pouts outwards a beat later.

 

_Huh_ , Suga observes curiously. _Why does that expression look so familiar?_

 

He’s seen it somewhere before… and it isn’t until Jiro speaks up that Suga realizes. Oikawa. Jiro, from his hair to his pout, looks so much like his father that it’s a little unsettling.

 

Still, Jiro is a lot nicer company.

 

"I want to be on Mars," he corrects seriously, little brows furrowing in the center of his forehead with concentration. "We’re in space, not on a mountain."

 

Suga can’t help but laugh at that before he sobers up at Jiro’s somber look.

 

"Of course we are," Suga agrees. "And what do we see, now that we’ve finally reached Mars?"

 

Jiro thinks about it for a second. Suga keeps an eye out for Oikawa while he does but there’s no sign of the other man (the medicine aisle _is_ all of the way at the back of the store) and soon Jiro is speaking up again.

 

"I see lots and lots of stars," he starts, voice super serious for a five year-old. Suga smiles softly, turning his attention away from the shelves to give Jiro his undivided attention. "And they’re really pretty and bright and oh! I think I see a spaceship!"

 

Suga mock-gasps, letting his eyes go wide to feign surprise, and Jiro giggles a little with delight.

 

"A spaceship?" Suga asks curiously. "You mean, like, other astronauts?"

 

Jiro’s eyes narrow as he stares out over the convenience store floor like it’s actually made of meteor dust and indescribable darkness, burning star-fire and undiscovered planets.

 

"Nope. I think it’s the aliens."

 

Suga smothers his smile when Jiro’s head swings towards his, big eyes seeking clarification. _Precious_ , he can’t help but think. _So absolutely, fucking precious._

 

Damn, he wishes he would’ve gotten the job… even if only to be able to brag about what a sweetheart he gets to babysit to Daichi and Asahi. Asahi was a huge sucker for anything cute — baby animals, konpeito candy, those flower stickers Suga used to buy him back during school.

 

"I think you’re right, Jiro-kun. What do they look like?"

 

Jiro looks like he’s about to answer wholeheartedly before he sniffles and rubs the back of his hand against his nose, face screwing up. He coughs then, a little guttural sound in his chest that sounds painful. 

 

Suga winces in sympathy. Poor kid.

 

What had made him feel better when he was little? Medicine, of course… but he also remembers his mom bringing him cherry popsicles home. Suga had loved cherry popsicles and the cool, sweet relief of them sliding down the back of a sore throat.

 

A pang of bittersweet nostalgia grips Suga’s chest before he shakes it off.

 

"Hey," he says to Jiro once he’s stopped sniffing. "You wanna go see if those aliens have some snacks?"

 

—————————————————————————————————-

 

The freezer section is pretty close to the front of the store so Suga doesn’t feel too bad abandoning the front counter for a moment to walk with Jiro there.

 

Besides, it’s not like anyone else is in the store besides Oikawa right now. Suga seriously doubts he’d leave without his own skid.

 

The two of them are about halfway there when a small, warm, sticky hand slips into Suga’s right one. He jumps in surprise but Jiro doesn’t seem to notice, merely squeezing his tiny fingers tighter around Suga’s palm about as far as he can grasp it.

 

_Jeez_ , Suga thinks fondly. _I really can’t get too attached to him._

 

It’s hard obviously, when Jiro is so open and trusting and holding onto Suga like he’s known him for years and not only a few days.

 

Still… still, after Oikawa grabs whatever he needs and pays, Suga doubts he’ll see them again. At least not in any sense past awkward run-ins in the grocery store or maybe a glimpse when he’s biking past the one elementary school in town once Jiro’s started there next fall.

 

Suga loves biking to places then, when the trees are turning colors and the afternoon sunlight is gold and slow and the crisp breeze in his air whispers promises of bigger things… maybe Jiro’d like that too. 

 

Suga shakes himself from the idea quickly. He really is growing too attached too fast.

 

On some level, he knows it’s due to the distance between him and his sister now. His nephews had just turned six right after the start of the new year and it had been the first time Suga had missed the party since they’d been born.

 

He should’ve gone back. He should’ve just paid for a ticket home and packed a weekend bag and gone to enjoy his little break… to see the matching mischievous smiles on his precious nephews’ faces and hug his sister close and relax for once…

 

… but it had been the first break he’d had since starting Nihon. The weather had been crappy, trains canceled because of a freak snowstorm and ice rain… and Suga’s parents had still been distant.

 

Suga doesn’t know if he’s still mad at them or not. 

 

They’ve warmed back up since then, thawing with the slow melt of spring. Suga’s sister — Megumi — had talked them into calling him first. She’d had his back at least. 

 

Suga sighs in the present, drifting back from his morose thoughts to the chill of freezers and the promise of sugar. His parents love him, he knows that much. Someday they’ll fully accept his choices too. Until then he just has to be patient and understand that they only want the best for him.

 

"Cool-san," Jiro says right on time, tugging at Suga’s fingers and pointing.

 

"Ah," Suga answers, immediately spotting Jiro’s interest. Not cherry but chocolate. He pries open the freezer door and then lets Jiro clamber up into his arms to grab the carton of ice-cream he wants.

 

"That’s a good one," Suga says honestly. Jiro obviously has good taste — for the richest chocolate ice-cream the tiny store has to offer apparently.

 

Jiro nods and hums happily in reply, hugging the sweating carton to his chest and squeezing his legs tighter around Suga’s waist. Suga can’t help but laugh at the sight… until he hears a faint voice, a few aisles over.

 

_Oikawa_ , Suga thinks. _Who could he be talking to?_

 

Without really considering what he’s doing, Suga moves towards the noise. Jiro remains happily oblivious, still regarding his prize with big, shining eyes.

 

Past the stacks of cans of Asahi beer, over the aisle of cosmetics, all of the way near the rear of the store where the medicine is… that’s when Suga finally gets close enough to listen. He stops still out of sight of the other man and then realizes, a second later, that Oikawa must be on the phone.

 

"You know I can handle it by myself. I mean… you know what I mean. Not like that. Just - Yes, yeah. No I -," Oikawa’s voice huffs out. Jiro is still distracted, tracing patterns into the condensation of the ice-cream carton… and maybe Suga shouldn’t be listening but he also shouldn’t be babysitting on his night shift…

 

… and he’s curious despite himself.

 

There’s a pause of silence, a rattle as Oikawa must pick something up and then put it back again.

 

"I _know_ ," Oikawa gripes a beat after, but his tone is more petulant than irritated. "But you should’ve been there. It was humiliating, not to mention extremely rude. I mean, can you believe - no, I didn’t _start_ it… fine, I guess I did say _something_ but it wasn’t like tha-" 

 

Another break in Oikawa’s voice as whoever it was on the other side of the line speaks over him. Suga shifts Jiro further up on his hip, back beginning to ache from trying to hold so still. 

 

_Rude? Humiliating?_ Suga thinks. He wonders if Oikawa’s talking about work or something else…

 

"Iwa-chan, you know, if you worry too much one of these days your head’s just gonna explode. I just spoke with my mom this afternoon but I feel like she’s still here."

 

There’s a trace of laughter in Oikawa’s voice this time, the whining pitching into something sweet and teasing. Suga freezes. 

 

Shit. He’s not supposed to be listening to this.

 

As soon as that thought strikes, it’s like Jiro snaps out of his sugar-induced silence.

 

"Cool-san," he says loudly and then Suga is turning on his heel and half-jogging back to the front of the store, his heart pounding in his chest. Jiro laughs in delight, probably assuming it’s another space adventure play-pretend…

 

… but Suga feels nothing but a wash of guilt and a sudden, nauseating hope that Oikawa hadn’t heard or seen them.

 

Eavesdropping. Suga had been eavesdropping and Oikawa had so clearly been having a private conversation.

 

_Iwa-chan_ , Oikawa had said. 

 

God, had it been Jiro’s mother? Did they still talk to each other? It wouldn’t be odd if they did, Suga reminds himself. After all, he knows next to nothing about the situation.

 

_Nice going, Koushi_ , he chides. _Eavesdropping onto a private conversation. Great way to make Oikawa hate you even more than he already does._

 

Suga has just set Jiro back down on the counter and adjusted his frock when Oikawa rounds the corner.

 

Jiro, who had been curiously watching Suga adjust his hair, sits up straighter at the sight of his father. Suga freezes, looking for any signs that Oikawa knows what he’d been doing just moments prior…

 

… but there’s nothing but a slight smile still lingering at the corners of Oikawa’s mouth. Nothing but a bunch of home remedy supplies in Oikawa’s hands… and when he meets Suga’s eyes and Suga braces himself for accusation, all he sees instead is a sort of calculating gaze that’s different from before.

 

"Daddy," Jiro calls, breaking the moment and raising his tub of ice-cream. "Daddy, look what I have!"

 

Suga wipes his sweating palms surreptitiously along his work pants, clearing his throat. _It’s amazing how quickly Oikawa’s face can melt from hard to soft_ , he can’t help but think, watching Jiro laugh and giggle and wave his ice-cream around. That’s what Oikawa’s face is right now — soft. The analytical gleam is gone now and Suga knows it’s all because of Jiro.

 

"Oh, it looks like you did go on a treasure hunt after all," Oikawa plays along, finally stepping up to the register to place his things down. Suga begins ringing them up, relief swelling in his chest. 

 

After this, he’ll finish his shift in peace. 

 

After this, he’ll get to go home and work as late as he wants on that paper, bleeding the itch in his body out through the tap of his fingers against his keyboard.

 

After this, he’ll hopefully never have to run into Oikawa again because the other will undoubtedly cross this convenience store off of his frequently-visited list now that he knows who works here.

 

All Suga has to do is ring Oikawa up, take his payment, and then wave to Jiro as he walks out those automatic doors. Poor kid. Suga does hope he feels better soon.

 

"Yeah," Jiro answers his father very seriously, voice blurring and lisping a little on the edges because of his stuffed nose and age. "Cool-san took me into space to see the aliens. They gave us this."

 

Oikawa’s head snaps up so fast Suga swears he hears his neck crack. Startled by the suddenness of the movement — and by the intensity of Oikawa’s eyes once more on his face — Suga’s fingers fumble around the bottle of nasal saline in his hands and then it hits the floor with a crack.

 

"Shi-," Suga starts to hiss… and then smartly cuts himself off from cursing in front of a child. "I’m sorry," he mutters instead, dropping to the ground to retrieve the container. Thankfully it isn’t broken… it’s not much, but the last thing Suga needs is a deduction in his wage for damaged goods.

 

By the time he’s back up, Oikawa’s face is blank. Whatever expression he’d been wearing before is gone. Suga shrugs it off.

 

_Just a few more items_ , he tells himself, going back to his job.

 

Jiro continues to babble — oddly talkative despite his flushed cheeks — and Oikawa continues to answer him, seemingly content with ignoring Suga at this point. Not that Suga’s complaining.

 

By the time everything is bagged and Oikawa’s handing over the cash, Suga is bone-tired. He blinks the exhaustion from his eyes, glancing at the clock again and then inwardly wilting at the time.

 

"Rough night?"

 

Suga’s throat clutches and then relaxes, surprise drawing his eyebrows up on his face at the sound of Oikawa’s voice… but the question had been undoubtedly aimed at him. Oikawa’s watching him when he looks up.

 

"Yeah," Suga answers flatly. He opens the register, counts out the change in his head as fast as he can. He’s not sure why Oikawa bothered asking but if he’s about to make some snarky comment about the bags under Suga’s eyes or a jab about the babysitting job Suga threw away, Suga isn’t quite sure what he’ll say in return this time. 

 

_It won’t be pretty_ , he admits to himself quietly. _Whatever it is._

 

Oikawa doesn’t though. He doesn’t say anything and Suga finds himself handing over the change in an awkward silence…

 

… an awkward silence that grows and grows because even though Jiro is back on the ground by his father’s side and Oikawa is holding his bag of items — including the now-sweating chocolate ice-cream — he doesn’t make a move to leave.

 

Suga sighs.

 

"Did you forget something?" he asks. He’s really too tired for this. If Oikawa wants to get back at him for the "good boy" jibe earlier, Suga wishes he’d just do it already and go so that Suga can close up. "If you need hard candy for Jiro’s throat, we have some in Aisle -"

 

"Are you willing to interview again?"

 

Suga’s tongue is suddenly too large for his mouth and he ends up biting the tip of it as his teeth snap closed. He did _not_ just hear that. Oikawa did _not_ just say that…

 

… only he so clearly did. Maybe reluctantly and with great dislike — because even Suga can tell how hard Oikawa’s clenching his teeth together right now, jaw a hard line of bone and skin and shadow — but he did anyway.

 

"Am I _willing_ -," Suga starts, brushing wisps of his bangs from his aching eyes, voice high with disbelief. He’s not the one who started whatever the hell had gone down last time. _He’s_ not the one who asked for trouble.

 

But Suga cuts himself off before he can finish speaking aloud, his mind like jelly while simultaneously sparking with outrage — like a hair dryer dropped into a bathtub full of water. His tongue is bleeding too, he can taste it.

 

Oikawa doesn’t answer, just stares back at him with steely resolve in those chocolate-brown eyes and his pride held firmly in place in the brace of his shoulders. He’s not going to repeat himself… Suga knows that without asking. 

 

He wonders how much strength it even took Oikawa to ask in the first place, given how stiff the other man is and the disdainful, almost subconscious twist to that pretty mouth.

 

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Suga prepares himself to turn it down. 

 

He can’t. More importantly, he _won’t_ go through what happened last time again and if Oikawa thinks he can just -

 

_You need this_ , Suga’s brain whispers. _You know you do._

 

Horrifyingly enough, Suga’s inner consciousness sounds a lot like Daichi. Suga hates it…

 

… and he hates even more how right it is.

 

In the end, it’s Jiro’s face that does Suga in. As if the five year-old can sense just exactly what’s going down between his father and "Cool-san", he’s watching Suga intently with large, shining eyes.

 

It’s Jiro’s face, but somehow even that shifts and then it’s Mayu that Suga can see in his mind’s eye…

 

_Fuck me_ , Suga thinks vehemently with one last surge of instinctual self-preservation…

 

… and then his eyes land on the clock once more just over Oikawa’s shoulder and he thinks of the paper left so imperfectly on his laptop back in his shitty apartment and then Jiro’s puppy-dog eyes are on him and all that comes out of Suga’s mouth is…

 

"Fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *revenge is a b*tch, sorry Oikawa* but also *Suga, give him a chance pls*
> 
> Okay, so this is highly un-edited but my eyes are about as tired as how I wrote Suga in this chapter so I'll save that for later (maybe)
> 
> Anyway, thank you guys so much for all of the comments/kudos... I'm glad this fic is getting so much attention bc I am definitely planning on giving you all some high-quality, agonizing slow-burn with this one (￣︶￣;)
> 
> As usual, my lovely, little blog can be found [here](https://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/)


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